I Get Around
by erbby17
Summary: After a night with France, England realizes he may have experienced one too many in bed. Or not. America might be more than just a good lay. Numerous England pairings, but a USUK focus. Enjoy!


_A/N: My first "for the hell of it" fic in LONG time. As well as USUK, too. Although there are a bit more pairings than USUK featured in this fic. Just a few drabbles meshed into one fic, but done with a purpose. Enjoy!_

_I own nothing.

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Just one more thrust and England would feel his complete satisfaction of the night; France was always a good lay, despite how much England hated to admit it. Seconds after his own release, France let his own spill about the confines of England's insides, pulling out to leave the green-eyed nation revel in that awkward feeling of wet emptiness.

"Oh, _Angleterre_," he sang, lying beside England, wrapping his arms loosely around the former Empire's worn out body. "I can always rely on you for a good fuck when I need it. Just the way you scream my name_, France! France!_ Hmm, I love hearing you sound so… pathetic."

Sitting up, England glared at his partner, disgust forming over his features. "Pathetic? How so?"

France shrugged, his mind seemingly oblivious to England's offense. "_Je ne sais pas_, I just cannot imagine you saying anyone else's name the way you cry out mine."

England sighed, settling down beside France, recollecting his numerous travels in bed. "I guess you're right," he admitted, far below his breath. Although, it wasn't so much what France was arguing, but the little fact that had slipped into France's argument that settled sourly in England's stomach. Just how many names _had_ he yelled in bed, how many bodies pressed up against his own? "I need a fag," he grumbled, rolling out of bed and throwing on a cacophony of clothing to fight the cold outside.

Like sheep jumping over a fence, England tried to count the numerous bodies that lay above or beneath his own, his feet scurrying on a journey down the hotel stairs…

|.|.|.|

_Despite the pain and torment he put the ancient kingdom through over a century ago, England never once felt a sense of regret from China in bed. In fact, he could barely feel anything, save for the elder nation's slender body entwined around his own. That porcelain perfect skin, dampened with glistening beads of sweat, curving around those almond eyes, was beautifully reflected in England's lime orbs. He adored making love to China's slim, yet masculine physique, something not quite noticeable when the Asian nation was dressed. But every lean muscle pulsed and twitched beneath England's touch; he just loved this point of view._

XXX

"_Russia, is it me or does your cock keep getting… bigger?"_

"_England, you should be well aware of why it's getting bigger…"_

_England rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that, Russia. It just seems like every time I'm with you, it just…"_

_Russia's hand twirled in England's sandy hair, bringing the blonde's mouth closer to his erection. "Blow," he said, in a tone too sweet for such an act._

_For a nation well versed in the act of deep-throating, England always found it a challenge to fit all of Russia in his mouth, and it only managed to get more difficult; he could never get used to the size Russia's cock. Disregarding the challenge of the act for now, England resumed his work between Russia's legs, the green-eyed nation on his knees and applying teasing licks to the larger man's hearty manhood. Though it may have had the alien ability to grow in size with each meeting, it always had that significant taste, a taste that made England completely forget his wandering imagination with the man's actual size._

XXX

_So perhaps England __**did**__ fall into the category of men who desired to be sandwiched between a set of twins. Although, not every man wished to have the Italy brothers as said twins at each side, but England wasn't going to complain. The two brothers were known internationally for their exploits in bed, the Northern one more noted that the Southern brother, but England heard stories from Spain and others who managed to slip inside Romano's bed sheets. _

_The scent of wine drenched the air, nearly seeping from the trio's pores. England could stand Italian wine. Actually, he rather liked wine, just as long as it didn't come from France. His hands gripped tighter at the brothers' shoulders, drawing them closer. The yelps of protest from Romano and the squeal of delight from his younger brother filled England with jittery excitement; he could not wait to feel the tickle of those hair curls on his flesh that night._

XXX

_Of course the two nations had set aside their differences from over four centuries ago, but England just couldn't help but want to beat the shit out of Spain every time they crossed paths. Well, maybe not __**every time**__, but every once in a while, he just wanted to smack that stupid smile off the Spanish nation's face. But after several punches and enough blood to coat the floor, the two would end up tangled in a mess of twitching limbs and grasping fingers. England blamed his damn libido, always insisting on breaking up a good quarrel with its incessant demands. But even England couldn't deny that Spanish allure, falling prey to sun-kissed skin, with just a few splatters of blood in the mix._

XXX

_England was one of few nations to boast about seeing the submissive side of Germany in bed. He always wondered what it was about the tall, well-built nation that made England want to pounce him and pound him into a mattress, but by God, did he want to. Germany's normally deep, threatening voice reached new octaves in bed, his strong arms falling limp once he had been entered and touched in just the right spots. Oh, how England engraved this image into his memory, never again feeling the frightening terror he would feel in meetings when the blonde would scream for order. Instead, he would hear him scream for more, and England would be sure to deliver; those blue eyes sparkled so beautifully when filled with aching tears._

XXX

_How England missed this scene; inebriated passed his limit with the two greatest drinking partners a nation could want, Prussia and Denmark. And although the former had lost his title as nation decades ago, it did little to deter his ability to chug. England could truly be himself around these two, not care about politics or anything of the sort and just bullshit about the most useless of topics. But when his mind and mouth failed to form any coherent words, and his vision grew fuzzy enough, the nightly escapades of the three would move from the bar to someone's bedroom. There was an underestimated charm to fucking under the influence, or at least underestimated to England. Wedged between two bodies when no one could tell who the other was, except by touch, was a free, loose moment England craved; Prussia and Denmark were the perfect two candidates to deliver._

XXX

"_Hmm, Papa..!"_

_England paused, jolting his head forward. "Are you bloody kidding me?"_

_The chocolate skinned island lifted her head, staring at England with confused honey eyes. "What are you talking about?"_

"_**Papa**__? Are you serious? You expect me to get off with that kind of word play? Jesus Christ, Seychelles, you make me sound like a bleeding pervert!"_

"_Like you aren't one?"_

_In a jumbled storm of curses and yells, England pulled out, wanting nothing more to do with this former colony. "I suppose you use the same pet names with France!"_

"_Of course," she said, with a sultry flip of the hair. "But France __**loves**__ when I call him Papa in bed." Her smirk was sickening, the way it stung through England's apparent nausea._

_His lip twitched up, remembering the many times France insisted on being referred to as 'brother' in bed. "The bastard would like it," he mumbled, zipping up his fly._

"_France is better than you, anyway," she said, playing with her hair while the bed sheets failed to cover her nude form. Her honey eyes glared once more at England, this time more playful than earlier. "You'd know, wouldn't you… __**Papa**__?"_

_England ended the engagement with the slam of a door._

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After a few flicks of his lighter, the tip of England's cigarette finally lit up in orange and grey speckle. He drew in a breath, desperate for that taste to kill the lingering wine, cheese, and everything else French in his mouth. The smoke plumed in a cloud from his nostrils and his mouth, and England couldn't tell the difference between his breath in the chill or the smoke of the cigarette.

"Hey," he heard a voice call from down the street.

With a squint of the eyes, he spotted that familiar bespectacled face. "America, hey," he answered back, huddling in his coat of extra warmth, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You smoke?" America's smile never faded, his face just splashed with a hint of curiosity.

England could feel the heat reach his cheeks, his fingers reaching for the cigarette to toss it to the ground and extinguish it below his shoe. "Occasionally. I just needed to think," he said, slightly ashamed America had to see his perform such a habit; he knew the boy detested smoking. "So, what brings you out here tonight?"

Smiling, America's eyes took to the sky, that boyish charm still apparent on his features. "Not much, just getting some fresh air." Brining his face back down to view, he glanced at the building behind England, motioning to it with his gloved hand. "Hey, isn't that where France is staying?"

More shame endangered England's night; the week's meeting was in none other than New York, and America knew the accommodations of all his guests, even France. "Y-yes, yes it is."

"You visiting him or something?"

England froze, his mind reeling back to his night's and his mind's adventure; despite his many bed partners, there was something about America that made England not feel proud, but ashamed of being so well versed in the bedroom. He drew in a deep breath and met with America's naïve, blue orbs. "Not anymore," he said with a soft smile, reaching out for America's hand.

The two blondes stood beside the city street, a single car driving past here and there, just staring into each other's eyes. A notched up bedpost could be left behind, sexual satisfaction nothing more than a fleeting memory; America had a sort of aura that could almost heal England, despite the scars the boy had left so many years ago.

"Cool," America said, taking England's hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Wanna come over to my place tonight, watch a movie or something?"

England smiled, the heat of America's hand fluttering up to tickle his heart. "Sounds lovely," he said, following America's lead down the sidewalk, and forsaking his previous bed partner, naked and dirty in the sheets.

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_Thanks for reading!_

**_~erbby_**


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